


The man of colours

by lonely_night



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: But it's me, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, so not much violence, some violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-05
Updated: 2017-06-05
Packaged: 2018-11-09 11:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11103981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lonely_night/pseuds/lonely_night
Summary: Credence decides to follow the man with the bright blue coat but, after some failed stalking, the man finds him, which is just as well.





	The man of colours

The door slammed shut behind them.

He closed his broken eyes that were black as the night, as black as a well, as black the many sins he kept committing.

He was ready for this and he would take it - all of it - until he collapsed.  
That was how it always happened.

If only he hadn’t been so stupid. Stupid.  
He was always stupid.  
It was all his fault.  
He deserved everything… everything bad.

He’d followed the man surrounded by colour, surrounded by light, surrounded by warmth. Again.

He’d done it once before, slipped away like a slimy, slippery, secretive fish. Only this time, Ma noticed.  
He should have been more careful.

Stupid. Stupid! _**Stupid!**_

He had been following the man carefully, watching his intricate dance around the streets of New York, stepping in his exact footsteps like the freak he was.

When the man had walked past the fountain, he had followed, never letting the distant flap of the azure coat past his sight. He was good at hiding in the crowd. In fact, he wasn’t simply good. He was an expert.  
The only thing he was good at was being a freak.

He had followed the man through alleyway after alleyway, the man’s strange, unsure gait making it hard for him sometimes, but, as he had such an unsettling, hunched walk himself, it wasn’t hard to keep up with mysterious man.

… alleyway after alleyway, square after square, until suddenly… nothing.

Nothing but a dusty, tanned suitcase.  
He had considered picking it up but just as he bent to retrieve it from the ground of the dusky, cramped alleyway, a distinct, shrill voice had dragged him by the scruff of his neck back to reality. Ma.

There had been no point in following the man anyway, of course - there was never going to be. He knew nothing was ever going to happen, no-one would ever rescue him from Mary Lou.

No.  
No.  
He didn’t need rescuing from Mary Lou.  
She was his salvation, remember?  
Yes. He remembered.  
He didn’t need rescuing from her.  
He needed rescuing from himself.

Now here he was, cringing in fear as the door slammed shut.  
It was a definite slam. A crash. A thunder. All his hope and desperation and burning, scolding, simmering hatred… died.  
He was powerless, left alone with Ma and the other half of himself.

He stood until the tenth blow, not uttering a word.  
That was how it always went.  
After the tenth blow, she hit him with reckless abandon, uncaring, shut-off to the world with only her searing hatred for company.  
And him.

After the eleventh blow he always whimpered.  
It always happened like that.  
He could never help it; he bit him lip until he drew blood trying to keep it in.

It never ever worked.

The whimper would fly out of him, trying to escape.  
He choked it back.  
But she always heard. She always hit back harder.  
And then he became nothing but blood.  
Crimson blood flowing like a constant river.

He walked back after.  
Back to his room, his prison, grey with boredom, grey with nothingness.  
Modesty never came to see him - she knew he hated her seeing him after. She always came to see him the day after. It was always better then.

 

 

 

He was in a fight.  
Not entirely sure how it happened.

Senator Shawd?  
Senator Shawl?  
Senator Shaw?

Whoever it was, all he knew about him was that he was running for Senator.  
At the moment, he wasn’t sure he’d make the best senator.

A fist pummelled him hard in the gut.  
No time to think, don’t think, try to fight.  
A brutal, stone like hand slammed into his jaw.

It was this man who had called him a freak, wasn’t it?  
Yes.

He still wasn’t sure why he was fighting.

The man’s head knocked into his nose and he was sure the sickly noise of cracking could be heard everywhere.

Pain, pain, it was blinding.

“Freak”, an angry but satisfied, cold but haughty voice said from somewhere above him.

And then a foot drove hard into his stomach.

Out of his blurred sight, he saw gold and blue and a wobbling figure.  
He saw white.

 

 

He saw white.

Was he in Heaven?  
No.

Ma said that dirty, backward sinners like himself didn’t go to Heaven.  
They go to Hell.

He should be seeing red: the eternal fires of Hell.

He wasn’t sure about that himself.  
If God loved everyone… well, why would there be a Hell if everyone could be forgiven?  
He wasn’t sure about the Church either really.  
He supposed there could be a God somewhere though, maybe.

Then, he saw yellow, no, it wasn’t yellow, it was gold.  
Blue.  
Purple.  
A gingery-yellow colour, reminded him of corn fields.

Groggily and reluctantly, he opened his eyes.

A figure swam into view.  
“Um, terribly sorry but I had to chain you down, you were thrashing about a bit in your sleep, and I thought I’d better, y’know…” the man trailed off. In his sleep-drenched daze, it took him a moment to realise who the man was. He’d seen him before. It was him.

“I-”, he croaked, his mouth dry and cracking. He stopped trying to talk because the man had moved carefully towards him and was gently cleaning the gashes and bruises that the man (senator… someone), had marked him with.  
He’d expected it to hurt but it didn’t really, only a dull sting, nothing he wasn’t used to. Besides, the colourful man with the sea etched on his coat was stroking gentle circle on his hand and it felt… nice. It felt good. It felt soothing.  
It had been a long time since he had thought those words, thought pleasant words.

He was interrupted by the man, “I’m so sorry, I forgot to mention, I’m Newt Scamander”, he blustered.  
“C-Credence, Mr Scamander”, he managed.  
“Oh no, just Newt will suit us perfectly”, said Mr Scamander, Newt, smiling warmly.

‘Us’.  
‘It will suit ‘us’’.

Credence wondered if this was a new beginning.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> I hope this wasn't too hard to follow with the 'he'-ing and no actual names!
> 
> This is just a oneshot at the moment but I might continue it.
> 
> Let me know what you think :)


End file.
